All he cares about
by MonumentForTheDead
Summary: A girl who's lost in the mad Jazz Age, she's scared, she's a murderess... Billy Flynn is used to that, but this time is different. But how? (The title is not so creative, I'm so sorry, I couldn't think of anything else)


**Another Chicago fanfic! I can't get enough of this characters, or the story, or everything about it XD**

**This one is a little different; I wanted to experiment with these two since I found a picture (the one in the cover) and I found it absolutely cute :3 **

**To the Roxie/Velma shippers, I'm currently working on two different fics about them, so don't despair! **

**I hope you all like it!**

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><p><em>"Billy, I'm scared"<em>

Any outsider who would see this scene would just find it normal; a woman about to be judged for murdering a man, confesses to her lawyer that she's scared, fear is a normal feeling after all, and sharing it with someone was a natural thing to do, but not for Roxie Hart... she could be all sweet and catholic on the outside, but inside that woman was a rock; not on the sense of having no emotions whatsoever, on the contrary, usually Roxie was a storm of feelings, raging inside of her like wild, but she had built a stone fortress around her heart for as long as she can remember. Not on her own free will, but for the pure necessity of protecting herself... self love was the only love that she knew. Keeping everything only to her was the escape she always used when in trouble.

So you can imagine that confessing she was afraid was a bit of a hard deal for her... Especially confessing this to someone she barely knew.

On the other hand, Mr. Flynn wasn't afraid at all; it wasn't the first time he had defended a woman like Roxie, it wasn't the first time he had used this strategy... - as a matter of fact, he had defended so many women with worst homicides than the blonde -Turning them into reformed sinners and little nuns - that he even saw the young woman as a real innocent...After all, all the men had it coming. That's what he always heard from them...

If you stop to think about it; what if someone tries to convince you that cats can fly, dogs can talk or any other bullshit; would you believe this person? - Of course not! – you say, but what if this person tries to convince you endlessly, over and over again that cats can fly and dogs can talk, a part of you would eventually believe, right? It's all in the power of repetition.

"He had it coming, Billy!" "I'm not guilty!" "If you had heard it…" "I blacked out, Billy, I can't remember a thing".

Yeah, the power of repetition was starting to affect the famous attorney… to the point when he gazed at his clients and saw nothing but wronged, tricked and defenseless damsels in distress. All bullshit of course, but was it wrong if a slight part of him started to agree with them a long time ago? Why did he even care? All he cares about is love... not physical love, not love of legal procedure, not love of justice, and all the crap he uses to say... love for the money all those lovely ladies would murder to get - irony? Possibly - just to throw their destinies on his hands, eager to escape from death and come back to their miserable lives...

With Roxie it wasn't different; by the end of the day she would be free, enjoying the publicity and fame he had given her; that is; if some other crazy bitch wouldn't decide to murder anyone just after the trial... then those paparazzi would run to the street, like flies on a bunch of rotten meat, just to take a peak at the newest jazz slayer. That's Chicago; nothing beats fresh blood on the walls... Billy Flynn was used to that; if the new girl was smart, he would have on his hands a new client, and five thousand dollars.

That was how life went, and he couldn't complain.

_"Roxie you got nothing to worry about..."_ he gave her a comforting and charming smile _"It's all a circus kid, a three ring circus... this trials, the world, everything! It's all show business..."_ His voice sounded soft, kind even, different from what he would usually deliver with his clients.

Was he trying to be nice? Maybe...

Was he feeling worried or perhaps even sympathetic with that ridiculous woman?

_Nonsense..._ Billy thought with himself. _After all she's not even the top of my list..._

Was that what he said a few weeks ago? When he turned his back on Velma to focus only and especially on Roxie? What's even this thing of top of his list? Money is the only thing on top of his list, and he knows that.

But since he brought that thought to his head...

The truth was; he actually felt sorry for Roxie, why? He didn't really know. The little chorus girl, frightened in the big city, dreams to become a vaudeville performer, get's lost in the middle of all that jazz and razzle dazzle, ends up murdering a man - or, even her sister and husband - has a break down and come to him, in search of salvation (sometimes Billy liked to use the word "salvation" to describe his acts, he felt like a saint of some sort...)

So why the hell did he felt sorry for that kid? Her story was just a repetition from the others, nothing more than usual business for him.

Maybe, just maybe he had seen her cute little face stamped in the papers too much; the angle the photographer caught made Roxie seem really sweet... Maybe even Billy would get himself thinking she wasn't just a dumb common criminal, but an adorable and responsible mother to be, devoted housewife... that picture made the man's heart warmer as he thought about Roxie in a simple, white dress, ironing his shirts.

Wait a minute, HIS shirts?

No, no! Of course not. It was Andy (or Amos, whatever) he was thinking about... the poor idiot. The guy really deserved some attention, but nice people don't survive in Chicago.

But as he kept rewinding that image of Roxie over and over in his head, he was beginning to feel more and more certain, every day, that that girl wasn't guilty, she needed to be saved and he would save her (of course, for a price, but he wouldn't be less than a hero by charging her).

Maybe it was her baby-blue eyes, that she squirmed and battered when she was confused with her new lines, maybe it was her blonde curly hair, fallen lazily in front of her eyes when she wouldn't comb it to have a conference with Billy in the early morning... maybe it was her skinny arms and legs, her small, even fragile figure that inspired the love of the masses, suggesting that she needed to be protected all the time. A porcelain doll, that's what she was.

Or maybe it was just the way that she talked with him, getting so excited sometimes that she would even lean over with her chair, getting closer to Billy, whispering the ideas that she had in mind when she would appear in public... when they were that way, they really seemed like a teenage couple, whispering dirty secrets to each other, plotting wicked schemes that no one can hear...

God damn, would he even listen to himself? What was all that nonsense he was thinking about?

He looked into her deep baby-blue eyes again; allowed himself to get lost for a second before shaking his head lightly, convincing his own brain – and, if he was completely honest, also heart – that Roxie was nothing but a simple client, just five thousand dollars more in his bank account, nothing more.

"…_but kid, you're working with a star"_ He smiled as he grabbed her hand, ready to lead her away from the death sentence, and hopefully away from him, forever.

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><p><strong>A little shorter than the usual, but I guess I'm pleased with the result ^^<strong>

**Like my fic? Not so much? Please Review or PM me, I'm always opened to suggestions and/or critics!**

**Thank you so much for reading!**


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